In a Copenhagen loft, curator Elin Moos owns a Finn Juhl, a Børge Mogensen, and an anonymous 18th-century farmer’s stool. She refuses to own a sofa. “A catalog is a graveyard of desire,” she tells us. Her philosophy: Acquisition must be followed by a three-month “quarantine” during which the object is used daily, then rejected or kept based on wear alone. We photograph the stool’s saddle—dipped four centimeters by 270 years of a single family’s weight. *Towels, terry, and the Japanese tenugui . By Maya Indigo
| The Smell of a Book Binding Perfumer Lila Georges reverse-engineers the scent of a 1926 calfskin spine: notes of vanillin, cellulose rot, and iron gall ink.
We live in an era of frictionless interfaces. We scroll, we tap, we swipe away the need for weight. But in this pursuit of effortlessness, have we lost the very thing that makes an object ours?
PAO Collection Magazine is printed on FSC-certified, uncoated paper. No lamination. No perfumed inserts. The ink will transfer to your fingers. We consider this a feature.
Within these pages, we do not review objects. We apprentice ourselves to them. We asked potters, perfumers, and stone carvers: What does it mean to be resisted by your tools? Their answers form a quiet manifesto for the tactile life.
EDITOR’S LETTER On the Virtue of Resistance
2. THE ANTI-CATALOG Why one Danish collector owns only three chairs. By Lars T. Hvid
We blind-test 21 towels. Egyptian cotton loses. A 1950s Irish linen tea towel wins, but only after its 40th wash. We deconstruct the tenugui —a thin, dyed cotton hand towel that never pills, never plumps, and dries in 11 minutes. “A good towel teaches you patience,” says Kyoto textile conservator Riku Taneda. “It does not absorb. It invites water to leave.” TOOL AS TEACHER | The Mortise Chisel Master carpenter Renzo Piano’s (no relation) guide to the one tool that cannot be rushed. “If you hear the wood cry, you are going too fast.”
Pao Collection Magazine Guide
In a Copenhagen loft, curator Elin Moos owns a Finn Juhl, a Børge Mogensen, and an anonymous 18th-century farmer’s stool. She refuses to own a sofa. “A catalog is a graveyard of desire,” she tells us. Her philosophy: Acquisition must be followed by a three-month “quarantine” during which the object is used daily, then rejected or kept based on wear alone. We photograph the stool’s saddle—dipped four centimeters by 270 years of a single family’s weight. *Towels, terry, and the Japanese tenugui . By Maya Indigo
| The Smell of a Book Binding Perfumer Lila Georges reverse-engineers the scent of a 1926 calfskin spine: notes of vanillin, cellulose rot, and iron gall ink.
We live in an era of frictionless interfaces. We scroll, we tap, we swipe away the need for weight. But in this pursuit of effortlessness, have we lost the very thing that makes an object ours?
PAO Collection Magazine is printed on FSC-certified, uncoated paper. No lamination. No perfumed inserts. The ink will transfer to your fingers. We consider this a feature.
Within these pages, we do not review objects. We apprentice ourselves to them. We asked potters, perfumers, and stone carvers: What does it mean to be resisted by your tools? Their answers form a quiet manifesto for the tactile life.
EDITOR’S LETTER On the Virtue of Resistance
2. THE ANTI-CATALOG Why one Danish collector owns only three chairs. By Lars T. Hvid
We blind-test 21 towels. Egyptian cotton loses. A 1950s Irish linen tea towel wins, but only after its 40th wash. We deconstruct the tenugui —a thin, dyed cotton hand towel that never pills, never plumps, and dries in 11 minutes. “A good towel teaches you patience,” says Kyoto textile conservator Riku Taneda. “It does not absorb. It invites water to leave.” TOOL AS TEACHER | The Mortise Chisel Master carpenter Renzo Piano’s (no relation) guide to the one tool that cannot be rushed. “If you hear the wood cry, you are going too fast.”
